Your Grandmother was once a girl

Her hair is wiry and a little thin

Collarbone visible, hairs on her chin

A mass of curlers on the crown of her head

A familiar sight right before bed.

But once she had hair down to her waist

Combed with intention, love and grace .

Her lip stain was ruby and her knuckles less so

A colour on her nails and visible toes

Sandals with heels and a handbag that’s neat

She once graced the dance floor

All night on her feet.

Her school years were simple, duties a plenty

Hop scotch in the playground, milk carton empty.

Simple meals, meat and two veg

On days less fruitful

Blackberries from the hedge.

She is a matriarch now but not always so

A voice indoors yes, but often below

her male counterparts simply because she’s a girl

Stand straight , speak nice, give us a twirl.

Expectations, to do lists she’s had them all

Love and loss, bounced back from a fall.

Your grandmother is forgetful but that wasn’t the case

The face of her lover she knew every trace.

We often forget her emotions were valid

they led to this chapter, now we write the ballad.

Her memory is faint, her body is smaller

Despite the large font she’s forever our scholar.

The words of a poem she may never hear

Your Grandmother was once a girl, hold that thought dear.